


The World That Breathes

by moemachina



Category: Final Fantasy VI
Genre: F/F, F/M, Post-Game, bildungsroman
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-22
Updated: 2013-12-22
Packaged: 2018-01-05 12:47:50
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,253
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1094041
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/moemachina/pseuds/moemachina
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The world ends. The world begins. Relm makes her own way.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The World That Breathes

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Eida](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Eida/gifts).



> This story is indebted to Richard Wilbur, Steven Barthelme, and those Mongol philosophers of _Conan the Barbarian_ (1982).

**I.**

It was eight in the morning, and Relm was seventeen years old. The light was golden around her. She watched the pale smoke drift away from the tip of her cigarette; she watched the reflection of the sun rising on the bakery window opposite her.

 _Yellow_ , she thought dreamily. _And a little red to balance it out._ She had not slept in thirty-six hours. At her current level of mental function, clear-eyed and jitter-brained, she felt as if she could take every color surrounding her -- the gray slate of the bakery walls, the jagged rose of the horizon line, the glitter of broken bottles in the gutter -- and recreate it in globs of wet paint. She would crush crimson snail shells under her pestle; she would scale the cliffs outside town for pale golden wildflowers. 

_And some blue, to make it less flat._ She blew out a stream of smoke and hungrily watched the light shift, increment by increment, shade by shade. 

She had been up working on a canvas all night; it was currently drying in her rented room. She was on her tenth cup of coffee. She could not stop moving her left foot back and forth. The wind blew down the collar of her coat, which was not quite warm enough for the weather. She was invincible. 

"Can I get a light?" 

Startled, Relm nearly dropped her cigarette.

"Sorry," said the other woman. She did not sound sorry. She was about Relm's age, and her long chestnut hair was bound back in a braid that was on the cusp of coming undone. 

"No, no, it's fine," Relm said automatically. "A light? Sure." She fished around in her coat pocket for her little striker and offered it to the woman. The other woman did not take it. Instead, she produced a cigarette and waited, unblinking, for Relm to light it.

Relm obliged. The woman's eyes were very dark. 

For a moment, they both stood there silently, breathing out identical streams of blue smoke.

"I've seen you around," said the other woman in her curiously flat voice.

"Yeah?" 

"Yeah." The woman exhaled again. "You were at that show that Ron did last week. You had a painting of an octopus."

"Yeah," Relm said. "That was me."

"It was good," the woman said, somewhat grudgingly. 

"Thanks." 

"You do paintings for that Owzer guy, right?" 

"He's bought a painting or two," Relm said. She did not want to talk about Owzer.

The woman's gaze flicked towards her and then away. After a moment, she said, carefully, "I'm an artist, too." 

"Yeah?" 

"Mostly paper-maché. Some sculpture." She smiled at Relm, and Relm could not help smiling back. "I've been thinking about getting into wood lately. Wood just has this texture, you know?" 

Relm knew. 

"Are you waiting for someone?" the woman asked. 

"Just watching the light," Relm said, gesturing at the bakery window. 

The woman nodded. She knew too. "I know a place that does some really good pancakes. Down on the lower side. Do you want some?"

Relm wanted some. 

"My name is Constance," the woman said. "I'm glad I ran into you. I've been wanting to talk to you. I think we've got some things in common."

*****

They had many things in common, as it turned out.

Hours later, Relm returned to her rented room. She was flushed with wine and kisses. She staggered through her door and triumphantly threw her coat on the bed. 

Her painting still waited patiently on its easel, its reds and oranges almost glowing in the dim light. Seeing it, Relm was filled with pleasure all over again. 

"This," she said, gesticulating at the canvas, speaking loudly for the benefit of her invisible audience, "this is my masterpiece. This is the best thing I have ever done. _This will live forever._ "

And then she collapsed into bed, on top of her coat, and slept like the dead. She did not dream, but that was nothing unusual. She never dreamed. 

Later, much later, she was awakened by someone hammering on her door. 

Relm cracked open an eye. Everything was dark, and it was obviously evening. "Go away," she yelled, or tried to yell, though it came out from her sleep-cracked throat as "Gerryay." 

"Open up, Arrowny," said an unfortunately familiar voice. "There's mischief afoot, and I aim to take part." 

Relm buried her head under her pillow. 

"It's no use to pretend you don't hear me! If you don't open up this door, I shall have Juliet kick it in!" 

"Ugh," Relm said as she rolled out of bed. "Ugh, you are the worst." She stumbled through the dark to her door and fumbled with its lock. "The absolute worst." She swung open the door violently. "The _worst_." 

Setzer grinned down at her. "That's what they all say." His hair was tousled, his cravat was impeccable, and his nails were painted indigo. "Were you sleeping?" 

"Of course," Relm croaked. "What the hell?" 

Setzer leaned against the door's frame. "You're not becoming one of those old maids who goes to sleep at twilight, are you?" 

"I've been _working_ ," Relm hissed. "What do you want?" 

"Company," Setzer said promptly. "There's a new production of _The Minerva_ in Jidoor tonight. We have tickets." 

Relm glared at him balefully. "How did you find me?"

"Celes told me where you were living these days," Setzer said. "Come now, Relm. It'll be fun! I told Juliet that you would be delighted by the opportunity for some arts and culture." 

"Right," Relm said. "Not enough arts and culture in my life." She squinted past Setzer to the woman behind him. "Who is Juliet?" 

"My new first mate," Setzer said, and the woman winked at Relm with her left eye. Her right was covered with a black eyepatch. 

"What happened to your old first mate?" asked Relm, who vaguely remembered a hearty fellow named Rolf. 

Setzer frowned into the distance. "Juliet, what happened to my old first mate?" 

"I believe you sacked him, sir," Juliet said. Her voice was low and husky, and Relm peered at her more closely. 

"There you have it," Setzer said. "Now be a dear and grab your coat. The curtain rises in an hour." 

Relm regarded him grimly. Then she turned to retrieve her coat from her bed. 

As they clattered down the stairs, Setzer ran a disapproving hand along the wooden bannister. "Relm, I'm not sure I understand these new lodgings. Weren't you living in Owzer's house?" 

Relm flung open the front door and irritably ushered them out. "I got tired of that arrangement. I wanted a space of my own," she grumbled as she locked the door behind them. 

Setzer cast an eye over the dilapidated front of her building. "And this was the space you chose?" 

"The rent is cheap."

"Clearly," Setzer sniffed. "I thought Owzer was the type to be generous. Remuneratively speaking, at least." 

"He is," Relm said shortly as she wrapped her arms around herself. In the night air, she was newly reminded of the thinness of her coat. "It's fine, Setzer. Don't act like you've always lived in palaces." 

Setzer went still. "Oh, to be sure. I've slept in considerably worse places, but I would not wish to repeat the experience." He gave her a thin-lipped smile. "In fact, I have devoted most of my life to ensuring that I would never return to such a state. I find little romance in bedbugs, thin walls, and hunger." 

Relm watched him narrowly. The streetlights overhead turned everything amber and ochre, and Setzer's eyes gleamed back at her like topaz. Neither spoke, and in their silence, distant noises took on an almost preternatural clarity: a dog barking somewhere behind them, the rattle of wagon wheels some streets over, the laughter of a woman from an open window above. 

Behind them, Juliet coughed delicately. "Where is the theater, captain?" 

Setzer glanced at her, and abruptly his entire demeanor shifted. "The Athenaeum!" he crowed, dancing a few steps down the street. "Such a great space. Come, Relm, come. We'll be late!"

"Coming," Relm said, stuffing her hands deep in her pockets. Setzer's sudden ebullience reminded her of the sun emerging unexpectedly from a raincloud. She was not fooled. She knew now why Setzer had come to Jidoor. 

"Where did you leave the _Falcon_?" she asked, increasing her pace to keep up with Setzer's long-legged stride. As she reached his side, she had the sudden, strange sensation that they were being watched, even though the street was empty aside from them. She cast covert glances at the windows above.

"By the south gate," Setzer was saying airily. "I find that the town elders are unamused when I park her in one of the thoroughfares. They're so inconsiderate of my convenience." 

Relm nodded at Juliet. "What do you think of Setzer's ship?" They turned a corner onto a wider boulevard. The feeling of being watched went away.

"It's a fine vessel," Juliet said. "I have never seen better." 

"Nor will you," Setzer said. "It was built by a madwoman. No one with sense would dare design the engine that she did." 

"I saw Edgar a couple of months ago," Relm said, watching Setzer from the corner of her eye. "He still wants to examine your hydraulic system. He thinks he can improve it." 

Setzer snorted. "Edgar wants many things. He is going to become well-practiced in disappointment." 

"Oh?" Relm said. "Haven't you seen him recently?"

Setzer squinted down at her. "I say," he said abruptly, "have you ever considered the stage, Arrowny? I foresee great things for you treading the boards."

"No," Relm muttered. "Have _you_ ever considered the stage?"

"Of course," Setzer said. "I've long suspected that I have the soul of a master thespian. But I've also long suspected that performing the same play, night after night, might _bore_ me. And there is nothing I detest as much as boredom." 

"Note that, Juliet," Relm said dryly. "Familiarity breeds his contempt." 

"I'm aware," Juliet said. There was laughter in her voice. 

"We've heard great things about you," Setzer said briskly. "Still painting up a storm, I hear."

"Yup," Relm said.

"But not for Owzer, I take it."

Relm shrugged.

"I've heard it was a lover's quarrel."

Relm snorted.

"I've also heard that he disowned you after you painted an unflattering portrait of him."

"Huh."

"Or that _you_ broke with him after he asked for a painting of obscene and unspeakable things."

Relm glanced toward Juliet. "You realize you've signed up for a life of being constantly badgered and pestered, right?"

"Do I detect the suggestion of pity toward my first mate, Arrowny?"

Relm shrugged. "Just so long as she knows what she's gotten herself into." 

"A life of adventure," Setzer said. 

"Don't forget that he was going to have you kick in my door tonight," Relm said to Juliet.

"I remember," Juliet said.

"That's adventurous!" Setzer protested. "Why, it's nearly swash-buckling!" 

"It's a pretty hard door," Relm said to Juliet.

"I think I could have managed it," Juliet said. 

" _Non-stop excitement_ ," Setzer hissed. 

Relm giggled. 

Setzer grinned down at her. "It's a relief to hear you laugh, Arrowny. I wasn't sure you still could. You've developed such a grim little mouth." 

Relm punched him in the shoulder. "It's just because you're here under false pretenses."

"Who? Me?" 

"Didn't you come here to meddle in my life?" 

"That depends," Setzer said promptly. "Is it a good life?" 

Relm opened her mouth and then closed it again. She frowned fixedly up at him. "Yes," she said at last.

"That was a long pause," Setzer said. 

"I was thinking about it! But yeah, sure, it's a good life. I have a roof over my head. I have plenty of paint. I kissed a girl today. What more do I need?" 

"For one thing, you need a new coat," Setzer said. 

"I can get a new coat, okay?" Relm said. "That's easy. But trust me, okay? I'm okay, okay?" 

"Okay," Setzer said. "Because you'd tell me if you weren't, right, Arrowny?" 

"Right," Relm said irritably. 

"Promise?" 

"Pinky-promise," Relm said. 

"Good," Setzer said. He briskly rubbed his hands together. "Well, glad that's done! Onward! To _The Minerva_!"

Given the state of her coat, Juliet's eyepatch, and Setzer's manic laughter, Relm silently predicted that the staff of the Athenaeum would bar the door when they arrived. She was not far wrong -- there was a recognizable look of terror in the eyes of the doormen when they lit into view -- but she had forgotten, as she always forgot, how mesmerizing Setzer could be when he wanted to be. 

There was a brief babble of voices, a brief frenzy of activity, and all the while Setzer was grinning with all his teeth and saying "Tickets! Tickets!" repeatedly and moving his hands rapidly. And then it was finished and they are standing in the lobby.

Relm gave Setzer a long look. " _Did_ we have tickets, Setzer?" 

"Tickets are so bourgeoisie," Setzer said, vigorously straightening his cravat. 

Relm pulled her coat closer. "You really are the worst," she said.

"I really am," Setzer said vaguely. "Say, is that Owzer over there?"

Relm stiffened. "The _worst_ ," she hissed. 

"Come," Setzer said as he seized her elbow. "Let's make our introductions." 

Owzer was standing in a crowd of a well-dressed men, but he was easy to pick out, as he was twice the width of any of them. He looked up as they approached, and his look of surprise gave way to a slow, tentative smile. 

Relm felt an answering smile cross her face. Jidoor thought that she and Owzer had fallen out, but Jidoor happened to be wrong. 

"Relm," Owzer said. 

"Owzer," Relm said, inclining her head. 

"Hello, Gabbiani," Owzer said politely to Setzer. 

"Hello, Owzer," Setzer said, visibly puzzled at the warm civility between Relm and Owzer. Relm darted a malicious look at him, and in so doing caught the gaze of Juliet, suspiciously poker-faced, standing on the other side of Setzer. 

"And how goes your work, Relm?" Owzer said.

"It's going well," Relm said. "I finished another painting today."

Owzer's smiile creased his entire face. "That's wonderful, Relm. Do you think that this is the...one?" 

Jidoor thought that Owzer was repulsive. Jidoor happened to be wrong. If Relm had been a slightly different person, she might have been in love with him. As it was, she merely loved him. 

"No," she was saying now. "No, not yet. But it's pretty good." 

"I look forward to seeing it," Owzer said complacently. "Oh? I think that is the opening bell? It was nice to see you, Gabbiani."

"Likewise," Setzer said, nodding graciously as Owzer bustled off. 

As she regarded Setzer, Relm could not quite suppress a smile. 

"So you're still working for Owzer," Setzer said expressionlessly.

"I am, indeed," Relm said. Juliet winked at her. 

"You know," Setzer said carefully, "a lot of people have been worried about you." 

Relm blinked at him. Her first response was to erupt in an explosion of curses and fists. How dare her friends conspire behind her back? _She was going to kill them._

Instead, she reached up and patted him on the shoulder. 

"I appreciate the concern," Relm said. "But really, it's fine. I'm a big girl now." 

Relm intended this comment to be dignified and serious, but Setzer giggled. "I see," he said, fending off another furious shoulder-punch. "Come on. We need to find some seats." 

_The Minerva_ was considered a beloved classic of the stage. Relm followed none of it, due to falling asleep in the opening act. 

When she woke up, she was in her own bed with the blanket warmly tucked up to her chin. She sat up, blinking in the bright morning light streaming through her window. Setzer and Juliet were sitting cross-legged on her floor, playing cards. 

"Go home," she mumbled at them. 

"Admit it," Setzer said, putting a five of diamonds down. "You're glad to see us." 

"The worst," Relm said. 

Juliet looked up at her. "Is that your new painting?" She indicated the canvas still sitting in the corner of the room. 

"Yes," Relm said. "What do you think?" 

"Pretty," Setzer said absently as he put down a seven of hearts. 

"I like the colors," Juliet said. "But what is it supposed to be?" 

"A technical exercise," Relm said as she frowned at the canvas. Yesterday, she had been jubilant over it; today, with a heavy heart, she could already detect half a dozen flaws in its execution. "Preparation for Owzer's commission." 

"What does he want?" Juliet asked. 

"Oh, you know," Relm said. "He wants me to paint the end of the world."

**II.**

The auction house of Jidoor was a bustling hive of elegance and wealth. In the heat of the afternoon, all the women had fans.

"Vultures," Locke said. 

Celes smiled at him. "You just wish that you had been the one to find these things." She alone did not have a fan. Her left arm was in a sling. 

"If I had found these things," Locke said softly, "they wouldn't have ended up here." He frowned at the well-dressed men and women surrounding them. "And they wouldn't have ended up with these people." 

"This is the cream of Jidoorian society," Celes said dryly. 

Locke snorted. "Relm, is this the cream of Jidoorian society?" 

Relm looked up in surprise. "What? The cream? I guess." She had her feet braced against the chair in front of her, and there was a sketchpad in her lap. 

Locke glanced at her pad and then smiled. "That's a good likeness."

"It's passable," Relm said slowly.

"No, no. You've really captured his wattles." Locke squinted up at the auctioneer fussing with his podium on the stage. "Like a mirror held up to life."

"Do you think so?" Relm bit her lip.

"And his beady little eyes! Well done! And that ridiculous waistcoat!" 

"Maybe," Celes said mildly, " _maybe_ we could have this conversation in a slightly lower tone?" 

Locke looked up and met the eyes of the man sitting in front of them, who had turned around with an expression of indignation. "And his stupid little nose," he said clearly and distinctly, staring at the man. "You've really captured his stupid little nose." 

"I say!" said the man, his mustache bristling. 

"Do you?" Locke was expressionless. "What do you say?" 

The man drew in his breath, but whatever he was going to say was interrupted by the auctioneer hitting the bell that designated the beginning of the auction. With an audible huff, the man turned around to face the stage. 

"And to think," Celes said serenely, "that I thought today might pass without you being challenged to a duel." 

"I haven't done anything," Locke protested. "I have no duels yet!"

"I didn't say it was a bad thing."

Relm turned to a clean sheet of sketch paper and began a new drawing. She regarded the duo sitting next to her from the corner of her eye. Locke was all fluttering clothing and gleaming gems; Celes was sleek and shining. In particular, Relm was transfixed by her left arm, captive and helpless in its sling. 

Relm's pencil moved across the surface of the paper: a shoulder here, a jawline there, the suggestion of an ear. 

She wondered what Constance was doing at that moment. They were supposed to have dinner tonight. Relm had seen her just yesterday, but she already missed her. 

She felt Locke stiffen beside her and looked up as the auctioneer wheeled out a covered cart. 

"And here we have something very special, ladies and gentlemen! A thousand-year-old artifact! Relic of the ancient world! A Hades Box!" 

Locke peered intensely at the stage for a moment before slumping back in his seat. "It's a fake." 

Relm trailed the pencil across the paper in a series of graphite spirals. "How can you tell?" 

Locke snorted. "It's obvious if you've ever seen one before. It's not even a good fake." 

"Inside voice," Celes murmured. The people around them were beginning to turn and look. 

"I mean, for starters, the corners are wrong. And look at those colors! Totally anachronistic!"

Celes was watching several burly men approaching them. "Are you going to get us thrown out of this fine establishment, Locke?" 

"Maybe," Locke said with a grimace. "Would you insist on fighting them if they give us trouble?" 

"Of course," Celes said.

Locke abruptly rose to his feet. "Come on, ladies. I've seen all I need to see. And I don't want to put Celes to any trouble."

"Nonsense," Celes said as she followed him. "It would be no trouble, darling." 

Relm trailed after them under the glowering gaze of the burly men. 

Once outside, Locke rubbed the back of his neck. He appeared slightly abashed. "Sorry, Relm." 

"No worries," Relm said, sliding her sketchpad under her arm. "It was diverting." 

Celes' mouth quirked upward. "A constant danger with us, I fear." 

Locke laughed. "True. Come, ladies. As an apology for my boorish behavior, I shall buy you both a coffee." 

At the café, Relm put too much sugar in her cup and stirred it pensively. She glanced at Celes. "Does it hurt?"

Celes blinked. "My arm? Not really. Just when I forget and try to move it." 

Relm stared at her arm. "How long will it take to heal?"

"I don't know," Celes said thoughtfully. "A few months? Until then, it will serve as a reminder not to be so stupid and watch where I step." She cast an amused look in Relm's direction. "I suppose a broken wrist must be your worst nightmare, huh?"

Relm said nothing as she continued to stir her coffee.

"I should have known that a genuine Hades box wouldn't show up in Jidoor of all places," Locke was muttering. "That thing was just a pale imitation." 

Relm looked up at him. "Do you think it still exists?" 

"Of course," Locke said. "The mere hope of finding one keeps me searching." 

"Why look so hard for something so useless?" 

Locke grinned at her. "It is a reminder of a vanished world. One last echo of something lost forever. A whisper from the dead." 

Relm shuddered. 

Locke pushed his chair back from the table. "We should get going. It's a long way back to South Figaro."

As Locke paid their bill, Celes paused at Relm's chair. "Are you all right?" 

"Of course," Relm said. "I think I'm just going to stay here for a little bit longer. And sketch." 

"Very well." Celes squeezed her shoulder lightly. "It was good to see you, Relm." 

"You too," Relm said. 

After they left, Relm opened her sketchpad to the most recent page, where she had drawn the Hades box. 

"A pale imitation," she said. "Of course it is. Nothing will ever be that good again." 

Then, with great care, she placed her left index finger against the edge of the binding and neatly ripped out the page. And then, with an equal amount of care, she began ripping the page into quarters, eighths, sixteenths, until it was nothing but a small pile of paper on the table. She regarded it silently for some time. 

Then she started on the rest of the sketchpad.

**III.**

It was as smoky as death, and Relm had just realized that the basement gallery show was full of hollow-eyed pretenders who had no eye for human anatomy and no feel for perspective.

"I need some air," she yelled to Constance over the babble of voices. 

Constance flicked an expressionless gaze in her direction. "Julian will be offended." 

Relm rolled her eyes. "I'll be right back!" 

That, as it turned out, was a lie. By the time Relm had fought her way up the narrow stairs and wrestled her way out the door, she knew that she was not coming back. 

"The _worst_ ," she hissed to herself. The street outside felt shockingly quiet, and the moon overhead was huge. Relm craned her head back and regarded it for a long moment. A noise at the end of the street made her look over, but the end of the street appeared empty. Relm frowned and thrust her hands in her skirt pockets. "Huh," she said. 

She started walking with no clear direction in mind. She felt a momentary pang of guilt over abandoning Constance, but really, these were Constance's friends, not hers. Relm had made an appearance; Constance could not ask more from her than that. 

The streets of Jidoor were long and sparsely populated. Relm glanced sidelong at blanketed figures reclining in doorways. This was not one of Jidoor's posher neighborhoods. 

The moon overhead kept pace with her every step of the way. By the time she got to the river, she was fairly certain that she was being followed. 

" _Stupid_ ," she muttered to herself; she wasn't sure if she was referring to the situation or herself. Or to her plan. She stood at the railing of the bridge and frowned down at the water. There was no one else around, but she could feel the hair prickling on the back of her neck, and she knew she was being watched. 

Below her, a dove cooed. 

"Stupid," she said again in resignation, and then -- before she had time to think about it -- she jumped up on the stone parapet and swung herself over the railing. For a moment, she balanced on the wrong side of the railing, facing the street -- and yes, god damn it, there was a figure standing under an awning to her left, watching her -- and then she dropped. 

Her feet hit stone with a jolt: the bridge had a jutting lip six feet under the railing, and for a moment she scrabbled for purchase and threatened to topple backwards into the river. 

" _Stupid stupid stupid_ ," she hissed as she regained her balance and hurriedly shuffled sideways to the place where the river bank began. "Stupid, stupid, stupid." She jumped onto the river bank, and soft mud gave way under her boots. "The stupidest." She ducked under the low arch of the bridge. And waited.

Relm reached into her pocket and pulled out her butterfly knife. She exhaled. 

_Dear street toughs of Jidoor_ , she thought, _I know I look like an easy mark. But trust me. I am not._

There was no sound of footsteps overhead. 

"Is someone coming?" someone whispered in her left ear. 

Relm shrieked, drove her knife backward, and nearly fell in the river. 

Two hands caught her right elbow and pulled her back on the bank. "Careful. You'll hurt someone." 

Relm stopped flailing. " _Gau?_

The hands released her. "Relm. That's a knife." 

Relm let out a long breath. "Yeah. I thought there was someone following me." 

"Let's see." And with that, he was bounding out from under the bridge and into the moonlight. 

Relm followed a little more cautiously, and she did not put away her knife. 

Gau scaled up the side of the bridge and peered over the railings. He was up there for a moment, and then he lightly dropped down. 

"No one is there." He was much taller than Relm these days, and his hair brushed the top of his shoulders.

Relm cast an apprehensive look around. "Maybe he followed me down here?"

"No," Gau said with certainty. "No one is here either." He squinted at her. "Are you in trouble, Relm?" 

"I hope not," Relm said, folding up her knife. "Say, have _you_ been following me?" 

"No," Gau said. "Why would Gau do that?" 

"No reason that I can think of," Relm said. "But what are you doing in Jidoor?" 

"Followed a gaggle of geese," Gau said.

"You followed some birds," Relm said levelly. With anyone else, she would have been suspicious that her friends were spying on her; with Gau, it was all too possible that he had merely followed wildlife into Jidoor. 

"Fell asleep under the bridge. Saw you standing at the railing. Gave you the signal."

Relm stared at him. "You gave me the signal?" 

"Yes," Gau said. Then he cooed like a dove. 

"How is that the signal?" 

"No? What is our signal?"

"I don't think we have a signal."

Gau meditatively scratched under his arm. "We should have a signal, Relm." 

"Probably." Relm scuffed her feet. "Look, are you hungry? Because I want to go somewhere with lights and people. And alcohol." 

"Okay," Gau said. "Gau is always hungry." 

They walked down the empty streets of Jidoor, but Relm no longer felt the curious, unnerving sensation of being watched. She took Gau to a little bar in the south quarter, a place where the bartender nodded at her over the head of a slumbering drunk at the bar. 

"What do you want?" 

"Water," Gau said, folding into a tiny seat in a tiny booth. "And some olives." 

Relm had red wine. "So tell me what you've been doing with your life."

Gau shrugged as he spit out an olive pit. "Helping Sabin. Helping the animals. Visited Cyan last week." 

"Yeah? How's the old goat?" 

"Good," he said. "He wants you to come to Doma. He wants you to restore a painting for him."

Relm leaned back in her chair and gave a hollow chuckle. "Does he? I don't do that sort of thing any more. Not to be a snob, but it's beneath my talents. I'm not interested in preserving some dead guy's painting of a dead king." 

Gau was expressionless. "Okay." 

"Anyway," Relm said restlessly. "What else? What else have you been doing."

Gau scratched his nose. "Trying to live. And you?" 

"The same," Relm said as she hollowly regarded her empty glass. "The same."

**IV.**

In the winter, Constance broke up with Relm.

"It's not you, it's me," she said, not making eye-contact. 

Relm did not understand. She said so repeatedly. 

"Look," Constance said at last, a little exasperated, stubbing her cigarette out on her coffee saucer. "I just...you're so closed off. I never understood where I stood with you."

"I was giving you space," Relm whimpered. "I was letting you be your own person."

"Yeah, okay," Constance said, bored. She gathered up her coat. "Look, my ship is coming soon. I gotta run. Don't...don't look at me like that." 

She left. Relm slumped in her chair. Her cup of coffee cooled before her.

Everything was the worst. 

Time passed. 

Each day crushed down on Relm. She stopped eating; she stopped sleeping. Her heart felt heavy and swollen in her chest. One morning, staring at her reflection in the mirror, she picked up her scissors and ruthlessly hacked away at her hair, leaving a ragged halo of blonde ringlets around her face. 

Later, she would remember that look as resembling a forlorn dandelion.

Days passed, and she painted nothing. 

She knew she could not hope to hide her anguish from the people around her, so she was not entirely surprised to open her door one morning and find Setzer standing there. His fingernails were emerald green. 

"Where's Juliet?" she asked. Her voice was dry and cracked. 

"Left her on the ship," Setzer said briskly. "Can I come in?" 

"I guess," Relm said listlessly. She drifted back into the room and sat on the edge of her bed.

Setzer regarded her. "Are you okay?" 

"No," Relm said. 

"I suspected as much," Setzer said. "Do you have anything to drink in this place?" 

"In the cupboard," Relm said, staring down at her hands. 

"Are these jelly glasses?"

"Yes."

"Are they clean?"

"No," Relm said. 

"Well," Setzer said. "The wine should have a sterilizing effect. Here." 

Relm looked up at him with tragic dark eyes; she did not attempt to take his glass. "It's the worst," she said. "How does anyone survive it?" 

Setzer sat beside her on the bed and said nothing for a moment. "Some people don't," he said at last. "Most people do. If it's any comfort, the next time this happens--"

Relm sucked in her breath. "There won't be a next time, Setzer."

"The next time this happens, Arrowny," Setzer said, relentlessly, "it will be even worse." He handed her a jelly-glass of wine. "You'll see."

"That doesn't help," Relm said. "You are not helping. Why do we even bother doing this?"

"Then don't," Setzer said. "Never fall in love again. Make an armor of your loss, and wedge yourself into it. That is one way. Some people do."

There was a long pause.

"What did you do?" she asked at last, quietly. "What did you do, when..."

She trailed off, and for a moment, Setzer said nothing. She could not even hear him breathing. When he spoke at last, his voice was distant, careful, considered. 

"I made many foolish choices and took many risks. But you know. It would have dishonored her memory if I had just lain down and died."

Relm grimly stared down at her wine. 

"And so," Setzer said, "I have made a vibrant tapestry of my life. A living opera. Nothing less would have sufficed. Boredom itself would have been an insult to her. To refuse to love this wonderful, terrible world in all its fallen glory...well, she would have hated such a refusal." 

"Never again," Relm whispered. "Never again." 

"A choice, to be sure," Setzer said. He sipped the wine and grimaced. "But not an inevitability. Take it from me. Mortal hearts are nothing if not resilient." 

Relm hunched her shoulders. "What do I do now?" 

"What do you want to do?" 

"I want to die." 

"Other than that," Setzer said impatiently. "What is Plan B?" 

"Something else," she whispered. "Something far away from here." 

"I think that I can help you with that," Setzer said.

*****

The children in the big house called it "the mountain," but it was simply a glorified hill. It hunched over the side of the orchard, and from a distance it resembled a green wave that was about to crash over the trees.

Relm had marched up the hill intent on sketching a landscape, but that desire had waned with every step, and by the time she reached the top, she could barely muster the energy to open her sketchpad. It lay closed beside her as Relm leaned back on her elbows and watched the top of the trees move in the wind. From here, it seemed almost as if she could see forever.

A shadow fell across her. "All hail the intrepid artist." 

Relm looked up, blinking against the sun. "Hello, Edgar." 

The king of Figaro made an elaborate bow. "Salutations, my dear." 

"What brings you up here?" 

"We had an ardent desire to see you, of course," Edgar said. He turned to survey the top of the apple orchard. "And the view, of course." 

"You came a long way to see me and some trees."

"And a few other things," he said easily as he seated himself on the grass beside her. "I was passing nearby, and dropped in to see the children. That you were here as well was a delightful surprise. What is your pretext for visiting?"

"Broken heart," Relm said with a strained laugh. "Had to get out of Jidoor. Terra said I could stay here for a little while."

Edgar regarded her. "And is it getting any easier?"

"Yeah, bit by bit. I didn't think it would, but it does."

"Good," Edgar said softly. 

Relm glanced at him sidelong. His face looked thinner than usual, and there was a hollow cast to his eyes. As usual, not a hair was out of place, but his clothing seemed peculiarly _tired_ , as if it were on the edge of fraying. His coat was richly embroidered, and his boots were polished to a mirror sheen; someone who did not know either man might have thought that Edgar and Setzer shared a common tailor. But while Setzer wore his clothing as a joyous costume, like a peacock fanning his gaudy plumage, Edgar's clothing was his armor. Every crease was sharp; every point bristled. Even his smile, when he caught Relm looking at him, was vague, distant, almost brittle. 

"Troubles in the kingdom?" 

"The usual," Edgar said with an equanimity that was belied by his eyes. "It turns out that it takes a while to put together that which has been ripped asunder." He smiled at her with a shadow of his old cockiness. "Nothing that I can't handle, my dear." 

"Mmm," Relm said as she pushed herself into a sitting position. "Have you seen Terra?"

"She was out. The children directed me to you." Edgar picked up her sketchpad. "And what about you? Any troubles in your domains?" 

"I have no domains," Relm said. "I own no possessions and have no obligations. I flit through life like a cloud." 

Edgar snorted as he began flipping through her sketchbook. "I heard you're still working on a commission for Owzer." 

"Have you," Relm murmured. 

"I have always envied you your gift," Edgar said, pausing over a page in which Relm had drawn a gallows in elaborate detail. "It is good to be able to use your talents. So many let their gifts wither on the vine." 

Relm plucked a blade of grass free. "It can be." 

"And as an added bonus," Edger said as he turned to a page depicting a skinned rabbit, "it must be nice to paint these days, in this new world. Now that you no longer have to worry about things coming through from the other side of the canvas." 

Relm blinked. "So nice," she said, trying to sound light-hearted. She must have failed, because Edgar looked back up at her with some surprise. 

"What is it?" 

Relm took a deep breath and hugged her knees to her chest. "It is different now," she said quietly. "It's harder now."

Edgar put her sketchpad down. "What do you mean?"

"It used to be so easy. It used to be _so easy_." Relm rested her chin against the top of her knees. "In the old days..in the old world...as soon as I thought of drawing something, I could. And I could do it well." She smiled grimly. "Maybe it was the magic. All I know is that I used to be good, and now I'm...just not as good. As if I'm losing it. Whatever gift I had. Maybe it was the magic." 

Edgar leaned back against the grass. "It wasn't the magic." 

"But--" 

"It wasn't the magic," Edgar said firmly. "Fret about your art if you like, my dear, but do not fret about that. You are as much of the artist as you ever were. Believe nothing else I say, but believe that."

The grass and small insects rustled industriously around them. Before them, the leaves of the apple trees coruscated like the top of some strange sea. 

They heard Terra coming before they saw her. She was singing; her voice was a low, soothing ribbon of sound. As her voice grew louder, they heard the second voice, high-pitched and childish, singing along with her. When she appeared over the crest of the hill, she was holding the hand of a small child. With the trees roiling behind them, with Terra's unreal hair -- for a moment, Relm thought of mermaids luring sailors to their mortal deaths. 

Relm automatically glanced at Edgar, but his face was expressionless and without color, as if he was wearing a mask. 

Terra waved at them; the little girl next to her excitedly waved as well. 

"Hello," she said as she drew near. "The children said that you were both up here." 

"How is Duane's new calf?" Relm asked.

"Good," Terra said. "It was an easy birth." She arched an eyebrow at Edgar. "What brings you out here?" 

"The usual," Edgar said as he pushed himself to his feet. "The standard longing to see my old comrades and reminisce over our past glories." He offered a hand to Relm to pull her up. "An undying desire to toast old ghosts, naturally." 

The wind rippled through Terra's hair. "Naturally."

"And I have a letter to deliver to Relm." 

Relm looked up at him in surprise. "Do you? Why didn't you say something?" 

"Slipped my mind," Edgar said as he reached into the inside of his coat and pulled free a sealed square of paper. "There you go. Special delivery from Thamasa." 

Relm took the letter warily. "You've seen my grandfather?" 

"Naturally," Edgar said. "Didn't I just tell you about my undying desires regarding old comrades?" He stuffed his hands affably in his pockets. Even in a slightly hunched posture, he was a good head and a half taller than either Terra or Relm. 

"Does he want me to come home?" Relm's voice sounded strange to her own ears: flat, emotionless. 

"Couldn't say," Edgar said. "I try not to read other people's mail." 

The small girl was swinging back and forth on Terra's hand impatiently. "Well, come back to the house," Terra said. "I'll find you two some lunch." 

Edgar straightened with exaggerated delight. "Lunch? I knew I had timed my visit opportunely." 

Terra regarded him steadily. "And if it is not too much trouble, before you leave, we have a clock that won't wind up any longer..."

He smiled down at her -- a rare, real smile that crinkled the corners of his eyes. "Of course. You need only ask, my lady."

Terra did not smile back. "It will be appreciated," she said, turning to begin the walk down the hall. The little girl darted a glance at Edgar and then eagerly wheeled to skip alongside Terra. 

Relm stooped to retrieve her sketchpad, still lying open on the ground. Picking it up by its corner, she wearily regarded the sketches before her. They looked juvenile, childish, amateurish. Really, the sketchpad was a useless object that she might as well abandon before she exerted any more pointless energy on it. 

"Relm?" She looked up to find Edgar watching her. "Coming?" 

"Sure," Relm said, closing the sketchpad and tucking it under her arm. "Sure thing." 

They walked down the hill, and the little girl sang the entire way. The trees rustled endlessly behind them. 

An hour later, Relm was sprawled on a dilapidated stuffed chair, her legs hanging over one side. The cloth on the chair had originally been covered in blue roses, but time and dirt and years of careless children had faded the roses to mere ghosts of their former selves. There was a low fire burning in the grate. Nearby, Edgar was disassembling a clock with long, clever fingers and a screwdriver. He was wearing little bifocals. 

Relm watched him covertly, but he did not look up or speak to her. At times, he hummed low beneath his breath.

One of Relm's canvases was propped over the mantel. From here, Relm could once again see its myriad faults and clumsy ambitions. Her shadows, in particular, were all wrong; she had not nailed that particular cast of pre-twilight light. 

She was still solemnly frowning at the painting when Terra came into the room. Edgar smiled at her over his bifocals, and Terra started to smile back -- and then stopped, as if arrested by a thought. Her face fell back into a neutral, impassive expression. 

"Have you heard from your brother recently?" she asked. 

"Sabin? Yes, he's living near Doma these days. He wants to start some sort of school, I think, but you know how Sabin is," Edgar said, frowning over the clock. "Commitments of those kind make him uneasy."

"Mmm," Terra said. She glanced at Relm. "You look troubled. What's wrong?"

"Do I?" Relm asked. "It's nothing. I was just looking at my painting."

"Why," Terra asked, "do you dislike it so?"

Relm regarded the canvas from under hooded eyes. "It's not that I dislike it. It's just that...it's not everything it could be. It's not everything that I wanted it to be."

"Ah," Terra said, "but what in this world is?"

"A cheerful thought," Edgar added from his corner.

Relm exhaled wearily. "It's just...hard, you know," she said plaintively. "I'm just tired of it being so hard." She looked up at Terra. "Edgar doesn't understand, but maybe you do. I grew up with magic and art, together. It was a part of my gift. And now my gift is gone." 

Terra regarded her with unblinking eyes. "Magic did not make us the people we are, Relm. Its absence does not lessen us."

Relm let out a rattling breath. "But don't you ever...miss it?" 

Edgar looked up from his corner in surprise. Terra, in contrast, did not seem surprised. She merely looked down at Relm. 

"Do I miss it?" she asked at last. "Do I miss not being able to touch another human being lest I shock them? Do I miss not being able to get angry without fearing that I will start a fire?" She stared down at Relm, and Relm recoiled slightly in her chair; she had forgotten how terrible Terra's eyes could be. "No. I do not miss that." 

Relm closed her eyes. "But that wasn't _all_ it was," she said fiercely. 

"Maybe not," she heard Terra say. "But it was a part indivisible from the rest." 

"Fine," Relm said. "It's selfish of me to miss it. But I do miss it. Some of it was awful, but part of me just wants to return to how things used to be." 

There was a long silence, and Relm finally opened her eyes to find Terra staring down at her, her eyes no longer terrible, but full of love. And pity. 

"Tell me, Relm. Why have you never painted a portrait of your grandfather?" 

Relm grimaced. "Have you ever seen that man try to sit for a portrait? He can't stay still. He's the worst." 

Terra's gaze did not waver. "Yes," she said gently. "But, really, why have you never painted him?" 

Relm stared into the distance. Unprompted, a memory from when she was six years old: a black tendril pressing against the canvas, pressing _through_ the canvas. 

"Yes, all right," she said with an involuntary shudder. "It came with a price. I don't miss that part. Fine." 

There was a low cry from upstairs, and Terra looked up with a grimace. "Marisa has been having nightmares recently," she sighed as she left the room. A moment later, Relm heard her lightly climb the stairs.

Edgar was screwing the front panel on the clock. "What is it that you want in life, my dear?"

"I dunno. What do you want, Edgar?" Relm drawled. 

"I don't know."

"Yes, you do," she said. "You know. No one would do all the things you do, exert all the energy that you exert, _act the way that you always act_ , unless they already knew."

Edgar laughed. "Oh, well. The normal things, I suppose. The expected things. To be a good king. To make my father proud. To be a good steward of all that I have been given."

"But Edgar," Relm crooned, "what do _you_ want?"

Edgar smiled, a sad smile, and turned to look at her. "The things that I want are not for the having, I am afraid. I have always known that."

Relm stared at him. "Maybe I should ask Setzer to keep an eye on _you_."

"Ha," Edgar said. "Would you like a glass of water?"

"Yes," she sighed, and while he was gone in the kitchen, she tore open the envelope containing Strago's letter. 

Naturally, Strago's letter was full of love and gossip and carefully engineered guilt-trips. Naturally, Relm groaned and rolled her eyes and asked Edgar if he would help her get word to Setzer so she could go home to Thamasa.

Edgar was expressionless. "What makes you think that I can get word to Setzer?"

"Oh, come off it. I know you asked Setzer to keep tabs on me. I know you've been meddling in my affairs." Relm scowled up at him. "I'm not stupid. I know why people keep dropping into Jidoor at regular intervals. You guys do not need to flutter around me like a pack of misguided fairy godmothers." 

Edgar lifted an eyebrow. "Is that what we are?" 

Relm's eyes bored into him. "I don't like people worrying about me." 

"You might want to accustom yourself to it," Edgar said, with a hint of steel in his gaze. "It is a prerogative that your loved ones are unlikely to surrender." 

Relm threw up her hands. "It's my life, Edgar,"

"No one disputes that," Edgar said. "And yes, I think I can arrange a reunion with Setzer. It will be faster if you come with me to Nikeah, though."

"Fine," Relm said. "I'll go get my stuff."

When she came back down the stairs, she found Terra and Edgar waiting for her on the front stoop. They had been involved in some sort of conversation, but they broke it off as Relm joined them. 

"Ready, my dear?" Edgar asked, his cheerful tone slightly belied by his brittle smile. 

"Ready," Relm said. She turned toward Terra and gave her a hard, impulsive hug. 

"Thank you for everything," she whispered into her abundant hair. 

She felt Terra squeeze her back. "It was nothing, little one." 

They separated. Terra looked up at Edgar and visibly braced herself. "Come again, your majesty," she said. "The children always enjoy your visits." 

"You know that I come at every chance I get," Edgar said. His voice was very gentle.

Terra shivered. "I know." 

Edgar turned toward Relm. "Come, my dear. Our chocobos await."

As they walked toward the stables, Edgar suddenly spoke. "You said that you found painting hard."

"Yes," Relm said guardedly. "It is more difficult now."

"Then that's why you should do it."

"Because it's hard?"

"Yes," Edgar said. "Because only the hard things are worthwhile."

**V.**

Setzer was having one of his moods. He was leaning against the wheel of the _Falcon_ , sourly regarding the horizon.

Juliet was coiling a line of rope on the deck. "I hear there's a new run of the _Pirate's Lament_ \--"

"No," Setzer said brusquely. "Seen it. No good. Hacks." 

"We could buzz around the Colosseum and see--"

"No," Setzer said, a petulant cast to his mouth. "Bored of the Colosseum. No good." 

Relm was sitting cross-legged on the deck, crosshatching a design on a pad of paper. She did not contribute to the conversation. She merely observed Juliet's patient, unflagging attempts to find a diversion for Setzer. 

He irritably spun the wheel. "Here, you take the helm, Juliet. I'm going below." He vanished down the ladder in a flash of petulant black velvet. 

Juliet took the wheel and directed a grin at Relm. 

"How do you do it?" Relm asked. "How do you handle him?"

"He's not so bad," Juliet said, shrugging.

"He can be pretty bad," Relm said. "And I say that as someone who loves him. But there's a reason he can't keep a first mate for longer than a year." 

"He's had me for a year and a half now," Juliet pointed out.

"Yes," Relm said. "Hence my curiosity. How do you do it?" 

"I knew what I was signing up for when I joined the crew," Juliet said with a wry cast to her mouth. "You don't think Setzer has a reputation? You don't think I don't know that he can't keep a first mate long enough for milk to spoil?"

"Don't you?"

"The pay is good," Juliet said immediately. "And I like him well enough. I'm never bored, that's for certain." She shrugged. "He can be petulant, but I know that he will back me in any decision I make; I never worry about him going back on a promise or leaving me high and dry somewhere. He's got honor, and he's got style. Those are the things that I look for in a captain. Besides! He's such a ridiculous character; I like playing my little part in his glorious train. I am a good little spear-carrier, you know." She winked at Relm. 

Relm gave a delicate shudder. "You're a stronger woman than I am. I hate working under anyone's supervision. Even having Owzer as a patron makes me itchy, and he is the least demanding of patrons."

Juliet scratched her elbow. "It isn't forever. I'm putting my pennies away, that you can be sure of. One day, I shall be a captain of my own little ship." 

She smiled happily down at Relm, and Relm could not help smiling back. "I'd like to see that." 

"I hope you will," Juliet said simply. "Ooooh, I think I see Thamasa. Land ho!"

Relm rose to her feet, and the wind whipped at her hair. As the airship descended, so did her stomach. 

Why hadn't she ever painted a portrait of her grandfather? She liked to pretend her reasons were complicated, but her reasons were not that complicated. 

Setzer came back on deck as they made their landing on the earth. He wrapped his arms around his velvet dressing gown. "Should we wait for you, Arrowny?" 

"I might be a while," Relm said as she hefted her leather satchel over her shoulder. 

Setzer glanced at Juliet. "We'll wait." 

Relm shrugged uncomfortably. "You don't have to do that. I don't want to inconvenience you." 

"Trust me," Setzer said solemnly. "I literally have nothing better to do. Really."

Juliet winked at Relm. "Give my best to your grandpa."

"Yeah," Relm said. "Will do." 

She clambered down the side of the airship and dropped lightly to the ground. From overhead she heard Setzer say to Juliet, "Time for card games, I think." 

The village of Thamasa lay before her, as picturesque and unchanging as ever. Relm felt a tug in her chest as she walked into town. She was almost resentful of the nostalgia that flooded her. 

Bright poppies bloomed in front of her grandfather's house. She climbed the steps and sharply rapped on the door. 

Afterwards, she was never quite sure what she had been dreading. That Strago would come to the door and immediately start criticizing her? That Strago would come to the door and immediately burst into tears? Because he did none of those things. Instead he hugged her and exclaimed over her newly short hair and pulled her inside and started making her some tea. 

Relm felt the adrenaline draining from her body. She felt like a knight who had ventured into a dragon's cave and found it empty. She felt oddly disappointed. 

Strago chattered as he put the water on to boil. He wanted to know how she was, how Jidoor fared, was she eating enough. Relm answered in monosyllables. The tea kettle sang. 

Relm narrowly watched him putter around the kitchen. Somehow, while she had been away, Strago had gotten old. 

"So what brings you here, my child?"

"I am here to paint your portrait."

A familiar look passed across Strago's face.

"Nope," Relm said, holding up a hand before he could say anything. "Don't bother protesting. We're doing this thing."

"What's the hurry?" Strago asked anxiously. "We have plenty of time. Let's do it tomorrow." 

Relm took his hand, which was knotted with veins under nearly translucent skin. "I know," she said tenderly. "I know we have plenty of time. Even so, let's do it now." 

Strago looked simultaneously dejected and ecstatic. "Fine, but I am putting on my dress robes first."

*****

That night, Relm returned to the airship with a covered canvas under her arm. Juliet alone was on the deck.

"Setzer is napping," Juliet said. "What's wrong?" 

"I was just thinking about the impermanence of all earthly things," Relm shakily said, and after a moment, she laughed raggedly. "That in a hundred years, everyone we love will be dust, and everything we've done will be forgotten." She pressed a hand to her forehead. "Nothing will last. Nothing will stay." 

Juliet put her hand on her shoulder. Relm suddenly pulled her into a hug, curling herself around her, listening to her steady heartbeat. 

"Would it help if I said that I was glad that nothing will stay? That I am allowed every day to mess up and start anew, in the happy assurance that no one will remember yesterday's sins?"

"No," Relm said, muffled, against her shoulder. "No, that won't help."

Juliet gave a little laugh and wound her own arms around Relm, pulling her tightly against her chest. "What will help, then?"

"Nothing," Relm said. "Nothing else. Just this." 

"All right," Juliet whispered. "I can do this." 

Time passed, and the only sound was the sound of their breathing.

**VI.**

"Cyan appreciates you doing this."

Relm looked up to find Sabin leaning against the wall behind her. She smiled at him wryly. "It's simple work," she said.

"Even so," Sabin said.

The paintings of Doma Castle were old and damaged. Relm was restoring them, line by line, pigment by pigment. It was stupid, repetitive, mindless work. Relm was surprised to discover that it made her happy. 

"Do you think," Relm asked, "that there is any chance he will stop archly hinting what a beautiful couple Gau and I make?"

"No," Sabin said. "Pretty much zero chance. Take it as a compliment that he considers your hand worthy of Gau."

Sabin and Gau were visiting Cyan for the season. Despite Cyan's misguided match-making schemes, Relm was grateful for their presence. Sabin liked to meditate in her impromptu studio, while Gau ducked in and out of the castle at unexpected times, bringing her snakeskins and bird nests. 

In particular, she was grateful that they gave her the time and the space to work as she studied Doma's paintings, which were awesome in their awfulness. The sense of perspective was skewed, but her scorn for amateurish inexperience began to transform into a strange appreciation for the flattened dimensions and altered world projected within these dusty frames. The stiff, unnatural postures of the portrait sitters slowly became deliberate, dramatical, theatrical: a performance of lives long past. The faded colors began to form a congruent color palette: blown-out beiges, yellows, pinks contrasted with still-vibrant blues. The paintings went from mere curiosities to absorbing objects in and of themselves. 

"I'm surprised you agreed to come do this," Sabin was saying.

Relm blew across the surface of a canvas, dipped her brush in white paint, applied it to the ruff of some long-dead queen. "I realized that the past still had lessons it could teach me," she said. 

"What lesson are you learning here?"

Relm laughed. "How to draw a picture of something that looks nothing like the thing -- and yet, somehow, you immediately recognize it anyway."

*****

That night, Gau invited Relm to a gathering of nature.

"Where are you going?"

His smile was enigmatic. "To see the other world. Come on."

She came.

It took them an hour to reach the foothills outside the town, and it was an hour of companionable silence. Gau hummed under his breath as they strode along, while Relm watched the heavy silver moon swing overhead. When they started to climb the path that wound up the hill, he took her hand. His palm was cool and gritty.

Relm began to hear something, a low rumble that gradually resolved itself into a babble of recognizable sounds: low roars, high shrieks, low hooting calls.

Her hand tightened against Gau's grip. "What is that?"

"A gathering of nature," Gau said, pulling her along.

They crested the top of the hill, and Relm finally saw what lay spread beneath them: lanterns, tents, and monsters.

Relm stared. "No. It's impossible."

"Isn't." He was smiling.

"Is it dangerous?"

"Not tonight." He tugged on her hand, and Relm allowed him to pull her along as they descended.

As they got closer, Relm could make out greater details of the motley horde before them. Men with pig snouts were clutching pewter flagons and roasted turkey legs. A woman with four arms was juggling a dozen glowing balls. A tiny woman was dancing with a flashing white cloud.

"Why are they all here?" Relm asked. 

"A celebration," Gau said. "Every year, we come together."

"We?" Relm said teasingly.

"We," Gau said firmly.

They were now passing between bright tents and clusters of monsters. Relm instinctively braced herself, but the scaly humanoids and gelatinous mounds ignored her.

They did not ignore Gau. Their eyes lit up; their eyestalks wiggled excitedly. They called out to Gau in a variety of squeals, whistles, and growls. A giant snail bumped his shell against Gau's hip, while a writhing mass of tentacles plucked at his sleeve.

Gau returned these affectionate overtures with matter-of-fact pats and squeezes, but he did not break his stride. He merely smiled and nodded at the creatures who called out to him -- in tongues both human and alien -- to come over and have a drink.

"Every year, huh," Relm said.

Gau shrugged and waved at trio of trembling shrubs. 

"Does anyone else know about this?"

"Sabin knows," Gau said. "And now also you."

There was a shout to their left. "Relm?"

Relm stumbled at the sound of her name, and it was only Gau's strong grip on her hand that kept her upright. She looked up -- and then looked down at the waist-high creature who had come running up to them.

"Mog?"

The little moogle threw himself against her legs and hugged her tightly. "It's Relm! I'm so happy to see you, kupo!"

"Me too--" Relm started to say before she was suddenly engulfed in a second hug, this time from a pair of massive furry arms descending from above her. 

"Umaro is glad to see you too," Mog chirped as Relm emerged, blinking and discreetly spitting out a puff of white fur. She smiled, a little shyly, up at the giant pale yeti, and Umaro grinned toothily back.

Mog patted Gau's elbow. "And it is nice to see you too."

Gau smiled. "Wouldn't miss it." He jerked his head in Relm's direction. "Thought she should see it."

Mog emitted a high-pitched peal of laughter. "You should be honored," he said to Relm. "Not many of your people know about this celebration, much less are invited."

"I see," Relm said, watching a lion-headed woman belch a thin burst of flame as she stumbled against a table. "What are you celebrating?"

"The peace of Nature's Gathering," Mog said. "For one night a year, we put aside our feuds, our grievances, our blood-lusts, and come together in joy."

Umaro nodded sagely.

"Why is it so secret?"

"We must have our mysteries from the world of man," Mog said. "We must have our own pacts and understandings." His little wings beat against the air as he waved one tiny finger at Relm. "You are welcome here, but there is much that we do to which even you are not permitted."

Relm smiled down at him. "Then I am most honored."

"Wait here," Gau said to Relm. "I'll find you something to drink." He disappeared into the crowd, but Relm could hear the wake of his passage in the jubilant calls and whistles that surrounded him.

Mog was peering up at her owlishly, and it occurred to Relm that he might be drunk. "And what have you been up to, Relm?"

"The usual, you know," Relm said, rubbing the back of her neck. "Painting. Recovering from a broken heart. Searching for a purpose in this life."

Mog beamed up at her. "Ah yes. The usual."

"What about you guys? I haven't seen you two in years."

Mog and Umaro exchanged a glance. "We've been traveling," Mog said. "Putting back together the things that came undone. The human world was not the only one destroyed by Kefka, you know." The bobble floating above his head waggled energetically at Relm. "Ancient treaties must be renegotiated, territories must be freshly bounded, and new kings must be crowned."

Umaro let out a heavy sigh.

"Kings? What kind of kings?" Relm asked slowly, and Mog let out a squeak of alarm. Before he could say anything, Gau had shouldered his way back to their circle. He was clutching a metal flagon in each hand

"Here," he said, handing one to Relm.

Relm peered into the cup, which held a dark golden liquid. "What is it?" she asked dubiously.

"Safe," Gau said.

"Wonderful," Mog said.

Relm took a cautious sip. In her mouth, it was sweet and hot and a little spicy. And then she swallowed, and it burned down her throat like a live coal. 

She coughed, her eyes watering. "What _is_ that?"

Gau smirked at her. He raised his own cup to his mouth and drained its contents in a single gulp.

"Good," he said.

"An excellent vintage," Mog said. "I think it was because of all the spiders."

"No, seriously," Relm said. " _What is it?_ "

She did not find out, because at that moment, a bell rang out in the distance.

Mog clasped his hands together, and his little wings fluttered in excitement. "The dancing? The dancing has started?"

Gau made a elaborate bow to Relm and -- in his best imitation of Cyan -- wheezed, "Come, my dear. The dancing."

'The dancing' took place in a large cleared space in the middle of the tents. On the edge of the grass, a dozen alien musicians were tuning their instruments. Other creatures were drifting into the square, pairing off, and wriggling in rhythmic anticipation.

Gau led Relm to the center of the square. "How does this dance go?" Relm asked.

"You'll see," Gau said.

The music started, led by a deep thrumming drumbeat, a clear burst of flutes, and a tinkling with no discernible origin. Around them, monsters began to gyrate, twirl, coruscate. Their bodies pressed against Relm; she felt feathers and scales brush her bare arms.

They danced the waltz; they did the minuet. They did high-kicks and silly hand-waves; they mirrored one another with unnecessarily exaggerated gestures. Relm was giggling uncontrollably.

Then a bell chimed out over the monstrous cacophony, and everyone immediately changed partners. Relm found herself dancing with Umaro. 

"Great party, huh," she asked giddily.

Umaro smiled down at her and twirled her under his arm, again and again, until she was too dizzy to stand straight. 

Then the bell chimed again, and Relm staggered to her left and found Mog, who shyly raised his arms to her.

This time, Relm twirled him. "Does this happen every year too?"

"Oh yes," Mog said. "Why do you think everyone comes?"

"The liquor?"

Mog nodded solemnly. "That too."

Then the bell chimed.

Relm kept dancing. She danced with lumbering cyclops, faceless women, and elves. People kept handing her cups of that liquor, and she kept drinking. At one point, the crowds parted and Relm saw Gau slow-dancing with a small dragon. At another point, she passed a familiar purple octopus writhing frenziedly on the grass.

And the bell chimed and chimed and chimed.

Relm was dancing with a small jiggling flan at the outskirts of the clearing when the hairs on the back of her neck prickled and she was overcome with the feeling of being watched. She looked up sharply.

Outside the dancing mob, in the shadows just past the lanterns, stood a figure dressed in motley rags. A ghost.

"Gogo?" And suddenly, a dozen previous moments, a dozen previous neck-prickles, flashed through Relm's memory.

The figure turned and fled. Without a second thought or a word to the jiggling flan, Relm gave chase.

After five seconds of plunging through the darkness, it occurred to Relm that this was maybe not one of her smarter ideas. After ten, it occurred to her that she might be drunk. And after fifteen, catching a glimpse of a shimmer of fabric in the moonlight, she launched herself forward with a growl.

She hit Gogo hard, and the two of them went down together in a tumble of metal and clothes and strange flesh. They rolled down the hill. Relm whacked her left shoulder on something hard. Finally, they came to a rest together at the bottom of the incline.

"Ugh," Relm groaned as she pushed herself up on her knees. "Damn it. The worst."

"That's what they all say," Gogo said in Setzer's voice. 

Relm stiffened. "Why have you been following me?"

"One last echo of something lost forever. A whisper from the dead," Gogo said in one voice, and then, in another, added, "Your loved ones are unlikely to surrender."

Relm stared at Gogo. "What do you want?"

"My child," came Strago's voice, followed by a voice gone from the world and unheard for years: "My child."

With a shriek, Relm launched herself at Gogo and furiously tore at Gogo's robes. Gogo struggled back, but Relm was a woman possessed, full of a strength she had never known before. She managed to grip the edge of Gogo's hood and rip it back, and then she gazed squarely upon the face of Gogo in the pale moonlight.

Relm fainted.

The next thing she knew, there was sunlight against her eyelids and a voice calling her name.

She opened her eyes to find herself on damp grass and surrounded by toadstools. Sabin was crouching at her side, and Gau stood anxiously behind him.

"What happened?" she whispered.

"That is actually the question we had for you," Sabin said as he carefully helped her rise to a sitting position. "Are you all right?" 

"Um," Relm said "I remember...there was dancing...and then..." She frowned fixedly into the distance. "Something? When did you come, Sabin?"

Sabin and Gau exchanged a look. "When Gau couldn't find you last night, he came and got me. We've been looking for you for hours, Relm." 

The countryside was silent around them, and Relm shivered against Sabin's bracing arm. "I think...I think I saw Gogo last night."

Sabin frowned. "Nobody has seen Gogo. Not since Kefka's tower."

"My memories are all fuzzy, but I saw him," Relm said. "I think...I think I saw his face. But I don't remember it."

"Could it have been a dream?" Sabin asked.

"I don't dream," Relm snapped. "It was real."

"All right," Sabin said easily. "Can you stand?"

Relm tried to climb to her feet, but her limbs slid out beneath her. "Damn it," she whimpered as she collapsed against Sabin's waiting arms.

"Shhh, it'll be okay," Sabin said, and then he picked her up easily, cradling her like an infant. "Let's go home."

"It wasn't a dream," Relm insisted petulantly against his chest as he began to stride across the hillside. 

"Not a dream," Gau said from the other side of Sabin. "Gau saw Gogo too."

"See," Relm said, punching Sabin in the shoulder. "I was right."

"All right," Sabin said. "I believe you."

"Gogo did not greet Gau last night," Gau continued. "Gogo avoided Gau."

"I think Gogo has been following me," Relm said quietly. "I think Gogo has been watching."

Gau frowned. "Why?"

"I wonder," Sabin said thoughtfully, and Relm could feel the reverberations of his voice inside his chest. "Did Gogo ever approach you back in the old days, when we all traveled together?"

Relm remembered a shambling figure wearing a rainbow of scarves and rags, standing silently at the rail of the _Falcon_. "No? I don't remember ever speaking to him. I guess he watched me paint sometimes."

And suddenly an image flashed through her brain: standing at her easel on the deck of the airship, mixing paint on her palette. Startled by the feeling of being watched and looking up to see Gogo. But Gogo's head was turned; Gogo was watching another silent figure, dressed entirely in black.

"Think of the tragedy of Gogo," Sabin was saying. "A life of mimicry and imitation. Unable to create, to invent, to transform. Maybe he is fascinated by you, Relm, and your ability to make new things."

 _Have I been making new things_ , Relm thought, a trifle woozily, thinking of her agonizing efforts to replicate life on her canvas. _Or am I just a mimic as well?_

But all she said was, "Maybe."

"Do you think he means you harm?" Sabin asked.

"No," Relm said. "I mean, he makes me angry but not afraid."

"Maybe he simply envies you."

"Maybe," Relm said quietly. "Or maybe he was bringing me a message."

**VII.**

Maybe it was a dream, although Relm did not dream.

She sat up in bed. The room was dark around her, but she could hear the distant sounds of Jidoor going about its night-time business.

"You came back," she said.

The voice from the shadows said, _Of course._

"I've been so lost."

_You've just made your own way._

"At least I have my work. At least I'm making something new."

_You redeem all that went before, my child. Now go to sleep._

Relm slept.

*****

Owzer stared at the painting. "And this is it?"

"This is it," Relm said. Behind her, Juliet tried to appear inconspicuous.

"It's not in your usual style."

"Nope."

"Normally, your work is so realistic, but this..."

"It's the heart of the truth," Relm said. "And not its outer seeming."

"And who is this man all in black...?"

"The past," Relm said, "and his end."

Afterward, Juliet and Relm stood on the steps outside Owzer's mansion.

"He didn't seem to like it," Juliet said dubiously.

Relm tilted her head back and enjoyed the warmth of the sun against her face. "He'll come around. The world will make him see."


End file.
